Part of the Show
by Wendy Pierce
Summary: "Oh, yeah. I'm very excited about my father's plan for America." At least, that was what Preston Winters tells just about anyone who asks about his father running for president. But is he really all that happy? Set during GG3.


**A small Preston one-shot because this part of his character hasn't really been explored. Enjoy** :

 **Part of the Show  
** The Hilton Hotel in Boston was perhaps one of the most exceptional places to be. The lobby was decorated in a red velvet color; the walls a shiny and clean tan that accompanied the colorful lounge chairs scattered all around the room. The elevators on the far corner glistened in any light and the bell hops were constantly on the move with their luggage carts. Concierges positioned at the front doors made sure the guests felt welcomed and content with their stay.

The air of the hotel was usually a peaceful and serene one, yet today was different. The Hilton was hosting an acceptance ceremony for Senator McHenry, who would be there to take the title of vice presidential nominee. So decidedly, the air was significantly different.

News vans and journalists gathered at the front of the hotel and drifted through the lobby like they owned the place. They weren't going to miss a single minute of the ceremony. The ballroom itself was getting remolded just to fit this event, and was off limits until further notice.

The Hilton Hotel was as prestigious as any five-star hotel can be, but the most prestigious part of it all was the penthouses. There were four located on the top most floors, two big enough to occupy a floor each.

The suites on the second to last floor were accompanied by the Winters and McHenry families, Secret Services obviously guarding the doors and the hallways. Potential candidates in the presidential race should have all the protection they could get, after all.

The penthouses were two stories high with spiral staircases leading to master bedrooms. The king beds were ones you wanted to sink in to, to never leave. Room service was impeccable and on time (at least not when being checked by the Secret Service).

Not to forget the plush living room with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the prosperous city of Boston. When light bleeds in through the lace curtains, it almost feels as though you were living in a fantasy realm.

At least, that's what Preston Winters felt like as he examined his reflection in the mirror that hung over the hearth for what was probably the millionth time that evening.

His shirt was buttoned and neatly tucked in; his khaki pants not giving a wrinkle away and held in place by a belt. His tie was straight, his hair even straighter. His suit jacket looked a size too big or maybe he was just a size too small but that was what he got for having a skinny frame. His shoes were Italian and polished. Everything was perfect.

Including the blue and red Spider-Man wristwatch that he chose as an accessory.

If he was going to accompany his father in tonight's ceremony, he might as well not go through this alone. Even if it meant having a really awful sense of fashion all for a wristwatch.

Preston curled and uncurled his fingers, impatiently swinging his arms by his sides. He couldn't and wouldn't run his hand through his hair-oh no, that would mess up the style and his fingers would be sticky from the amount of gel his mother placed in it.

But there was something about that day that made him uneasy. The feeling that settled into his stomach was one that he'd felt before. It wasn't fear. He'd practiced the routine one too many times that he could do it in his sleep. He knew when to smile or wave; how to attract voters by just being there.

No, what Preston was feeling wasn't fear.

Fear of messing up. Fear of being in public. He'd been the topic of social media, on the cover of several magazines, and been under the scrutiny of thousands of people before that he wasn't afraid.

He wasn't excited, either.

If anything, Preston didn't want to be there in that hotel. He didn't want to support his father nor be viewed by others on national television. He wanted to sit in his home in Vermont and enjoy the rest of the summer.

So Preston wasn't scared. He was exhausted. Of both the people and his public appearances alike. He didn't know how much longer he would have to put up with it. As long as Samuel Winters remained in the nomination for president, Preston will be seen by the people as the bubbly, grinning politician's son who was excited for his father. Except he wasn't. Not entirely, at least.

What people didn't realize was that Preston Winters was more than just his father's son. Strip away the suit and the smile and he was just a normal teenage boy with an equally normal life. And a Spider-Man watch. The watch was not to be forgotten.

Thus, Preston didn't care anymore. He ran his fingers through his thick hair-over and over again-until it stuck up at odd angles. He clawed at the tie, forcing it to come undone and become a tangled mess hanging from his neck. He fumbled with his hair and his tie until he couldn't stand the movement anymore; until his chest heaved from his quick and shallow breaths like it was the most liberating thing yet. And maybe it was.

Preston glanced at the mirror again and saw the boy who looked back at him. The once elegantly dressed young man looked as though he had been through a fight and barely made it out alive. As though he never really was the boy on the magazines and the T.V. screen. And Preston knew-he wasn't that boy.

The person off stage was admittedly different from the cheerful one who stood in the public eye. The spotlight might have always been on him since the beginning of the campaign, but there are things that even the light can't show.

It was truly a fantasy realm that he was living and he knew it.

"Preston," he heard the whisper-yell before he turned to face the owner of the voice. His mother stood in the doorway, disappointment making its way to her features. She was angry with him. He could tell by the tone of her voice; the way she stood looking at her son as though he was a mistake. Maybe he was.

Preston was done pretending-for the most part. That was why he allowed his mother to force him into her room, to reapply his makeup and redo his hair. He didn't fight her. He couldn't because he was far too busy fighting with himself.

He wanted to go back to being the boy in Vermont. The boy that didn't give two cents about politics and public appearances. He wanted to return to his comic books and movie marathons-heck; he even wanted to return to school if it meant getting away from his father's political life. But as long as he played the perfect politician's son in this fantasy realm with everyone's eyes-including the cameras- on him, the boy from Vermont might as well be long gone. Dead, even.

He wanted it to be over.

He didn't tell his mother that, of course. She was already mad at him for becoming a mess-no doubt-that he didn't need to give her another reason to be even more so at him.

A few minutes later, his hair was in place. His tie was fixed and straight and the boy in the mirror was more of a fantasy than the reality. But that didn't matter, did it? Because with the presidential election, all that was important were appearances.

A knock on the door informed the Winters of another presence. A Secret Service agent came in and announced that it was time. The ballroom downstairs was waiting for them. So were the people.

The Winters began their descend down the hidden stairs that led to the ballroom.

Sandwiched between his parents and the agents, Preston knew that was ready despite not wanting to be there. He had planned everything perfectly. From his smile to his wave to his presence in general, he was going to do the right thing.

For his father, the Governor.

For his mother.

For the election.

For the people.

But for him? Dressing up was nice and all, yet it still didn't seem like something he wanted to do. Something he needed to do.

Everything about him-it was all for show. Who cared if he was flawed? If he was a total dork? Or if he was sick and tired of running public appearances all for his father? He was the Governor's son helping his father collect votes and that was _all_ that ever mattered.

Everything Preston Winters did was for the best.

Everything he did that day, or any other day on the campaign-was for _anything_ but him.

So as he stepped upon the stage, flashed the crowd an award winning smile, and stood behind his father with his mother by his side, he knew very well that this _was all part of the show_ _._


End file.
